


je ne connais pas ton coeur

by MVforVictory



Category: UNIQ (Band), VICTON (Band), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: 3seung, Canon Compliant, Crying, M/M, Miscommunication, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Seungsik is just trying to understand, Seungwoo is a good boy, Seungyoun is sad, Suicide Attempt, a splash of 18+ content, established 2seung, eventual OT3, literally what else do i tag this with, seungsik-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MVforVictory/pseuds/MVforVictory
Summary: “That star’s’pretty,” Seungyoun can barely be heard over the wind, but Seungsik just manages to catch his words before they drift away, “Wonder if it's still‘live.”“What do you mean?” Seungwoo’s voice shakes, his hands freezing over the darkened fabric of the singer’s shorts. The blood doesn’t look like it’s stopping.Seungyoun hums, closing his eyes as Seungwoo lightly taps his cheek again. His lips are beginning to turn blue, Seungsik wonders if they should be already on their way to the hospital. “Could take…years…for th’light to reach us…”Seungsik's jealousy almost gets the best of him. Seungwoo struggles to adapt.And Seungyoun? Seungyoun just needs someone by his side.
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Han Seungwoo, Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Han Seungwoo/Kang Seungsik, Han Seungwoo/Kang Seungsik
Comments: 16
Kudos: 51





	je ne connais pas ton coeur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EliKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliKat/gifts).



> listen i dont know why i wrote this thing for a ship that's got all of like 3 stories under it but im here so have this IDK OKAY
> 
> this was very inspired by both of Seungyoun’s songs Tide and meaningless, if you couldn’t tell lmao  
> title comes from a lyric in Tide~

Seungsik had noticed it almost immediately into the new year.

The news of X1’s disbandment had come as a shock. He, of course, was worried about how Seungwoo would handle it. Each time he had met with the elder before the news broke, he would excitedly chatter on about all of the crazy antics his new group mates would be up to. Each phone call would feature a distant yell of _‘hello, Seungsik-sunbaenim!’,_ followed by Seungwoo’s fond laughter and a quiet, ‘It was Hangyul, this time.’

Seungsik could see how much Seungwoo cared for the boys, and he could see why. The variety clips he sat down and watched with the rest of Victon were always filled with cheers and laughter, and Seungwoo looking after them all with that same fond, loving gaze that Seungsik was so used to being on the receiving end of. 

So, yes, he was worried about Seungwoo after the announcement, but there was still the insistent pull of a feeling Seungsik doesn’t want to put a name to, but he had tried his best to push it away in favor of giving all of his attention to Seungwoo, after the months of them being apart.

The sentiment, however, didn’t seem quite as mutual.

(The feeling was _relief,_ Seungsik felt relieved to have Seungwoo back. That was all. It has nothing to do with the contempt Seungsik feels each time the others are mentioned. Or the jealousy that burns under his skin like fire whenever he sees any of the others hanging off of Seungwoo.)

Except, Seungwoo—while not quite as excitable as usual—seemed to be handling it a lot better than Seungsik would have guessed. They settled back into their old routine well enough. Seungsik felt like he could actually breathe again with Seungwoo’s sturdy presence always at his side, a reassurance that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But Seungwoo was more distant than usual. At first, Seungsik hadn’t been too concerned—it wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected, but Seungsik still couldn’t help but wish the whole Produce fiasco just had never happened. That there had never been a need for Seungwoo or Byungchan to join the show, or, _selfishly,_ Seungsik found himself wishing that Seungwoo had left when Byungchan did, but he doesn’t dwell on it too much. He can’t.

One thing he does notice that’s outside of their old routine are the text messages that Seungwoo sends like clockwork. Not to him, no. Not to him. Seungsik doesn’t actually know who they’re sent to, but every morning, right when they wake up, Seungwoo sends a text message to a recipient Seungsik can never quite catch a glimpse of, but the stark orange of the little fox emoji that sits next to their name seems to mock him. 

The first text is always in the morning. Sometimes it continues on after that, sometimes it doesn’t. On the days it does, Seungwoo will immediately pick up his phone the second it buzzes, reading it with the smile that Seungsik has only ever seen pointed at _himself,_ as he types his reply out.

Seungsik hates that he’s growing used to waking up to seeing Seungwoo already on his phone, smiling unabashedly at the screen before clicking it off when he realizes Seungsik is awake, and the smile shifts its reason to him, but it doesn’t feel right. Seungsik ignores it.

When the texts don’t continue after the initial morning message, there’s always another sent as the two of them gather in the kitchen; Seungsik to make lunch for the group and Seungwoo to ‘help.’ He’ll send a message, giggle at the response, and then press himself against Seungsik’s back with a kiss to his nape. It makes Seungsik feel dirty, or like he’s an afterthought, which isn’t fair to Seungwoo. He trusts his boyfriend. He does. 

That repeats for dinner. On the days they have schedules, sometimes Seungsik will catch Seungwoo snapping a quick selca before sending it. He knows it’s not going to instagram, because it lacks Seungwoo’s usual pose. He’s just…smiling that _damn_ smile. The smile Seungsik’s used to seeing only directed at him.

The last message is always right as they’re settling into bed. 

One day, Seungsik decides to just fucking ask.

“Who is it you’re always texting?”

Seungwoo looks at him from the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold, and maybe something else Seungsik doesn’t want to think about. Doesn’t want to think about why Seungwoo had to get up just minutes after they had settled into bed, all to answer a phone call from this damn number that makes Seungsik’s blood boil when he sees that fucking fox emoticon.

“Hmm?” Seungwoo hums, like he doesn’t understand what Seungsik is asking right away, “Oh, it’s no one. Don’t worry about it.”

Seungwoo smiles at him, but Seungsik can’t find any of the reassurance he usually gets from it. “Telling me not to worry about it is only going to make me worry about it more,” Seungsik bites out, satisfied in the way Seungwoo flinches back slightly at his tone, “I want to know who you’ve been nonstop messaging these past few weeks.”

“It’s not that—”

“It is!” Seungsik pushes off the bed, stalking forward to back Seungwoo against the door, “It is. And I don’t like it. I don’t like how much they text you. I don’t like how much you text _them._ I don’t like it, okay? I don’t fucking like it.”

Seungwoo’s lips press into a thin line, “It’s just the X1 boys, Sik-ah, that’s it. I miss them.”

For a second, just for a second, Seungsik regrets it—cornering Seungwoo in his own room—but then he remembers the jealousy that burned red under his skin every time Seungwoo would leave the room to answer a call.

“Enough to ignore your own group? Your _actual_ group? Are we—Are we just not good enough for you now? Is that it? Are we not good enough now that you know what it’s like to be around the _best of the best?”_

His words visibly cut into Seungwoo, but that’s exactly what he wants to happen. He wants Seungwoo to get angry, and argue back with him. He wants Seungwoo to just fucking own up to the fact that he’d prefer to be with X1 members over his own.

“Seungsik, you know that’s not true,” Seungwoo tries to argue, but Seungsik shakes his head, turning his body away and pushing the elder’s hand off when he lays it on his shoulder.

“Do I? Do I know it’s not true?”

He hears Seungwoo sigh. Seungsik’s shoulders tense as he feels the rapper’s chest press against his back, something that should feel so familiar but doesn’t. Not anymore. 

“Baby,” the word is whispered against the shell of his ear before Seungwoo drops his forehead against Seungsik’s shoulder, “I love you. So much, Seungsik-ah. I love you more than anything.”

He wants to say, _‘I know, Woo-yah, I love you too,’_ but the words never quite manage their way from his mouth. Seungsik pulls away from Seungwoo’s arms, slowly, letting the older man’s touch linger just enough that he understands what Seungsik is feeling. 

He wants Seungwoo to know that he’s hurting. 

Seungsik quietly exits the room, trying to pretend that he can’t hear the waiver in Seungwoo’s breathing as he lets the door click shut behind him. 

It’s the first night Seungsik has slept in his own bed since Seungwoo returned. He doesn’t sleep well.

The next morning, Seungwoo is already awake by the time Seungsik gets up. He’s standing in the kitchen, wearing Seungsik’s _Kiss the Cook_ apron, with a sleepy Subin nestled into his left side as his other hand works to flip what looks like pancakes with only some difficulty. 

“Morning, Seungsik-ah,” Seungwoo greats him with a small smile, a tiny twinkle of _hope_ lighting up his eyes, one that Seungsik can’t bring himself to extinguish. So he returns Seungwoo’s cautious smile, even goes as far as to press a kiss against the corner of Seungwoo’s lips. 

Seungsik thinks everything is going to be fine, and it is. 

(Until it isn’t.)

Seungwoo doesn’t text that number anymore, or, at least not when Seungsik is around. He’s no longer woken up by Seungwoo’s phone loudly buzzing on the nightstand, and instead gets to wake up to Seungwoo still sound asleep, head pillowed on his chest or Seungsik still nestled in his arms. It’s nice. It’s peaceful. 

He’s not selfish, he isn’t, because it’s normal to feel like this. To want this simple assurance in life. He’s Seungwoo’s boyfriend, after all, not to mention his leader now. Seungsik thinks he’s allowed to want to be put first. Right?

Okay, maybe it was a little selfish, but he just misses what they used to have. The dynamic they used to exist in, before X1 was even a thought—and now that he’s getting that back, Seungsik doesn’t ever want to let that go again.

Days pass. Their company gives them the clear for another comeback. Seungsik doesn’t think about fox emoticons or the fond look on Seungwoo’s face when he talks about people Seungsik has no desire to meet.

Everything’s fine.

* * *

Everything’s _more_ than fine, in fact.

“Seungsik-ah,” Seungwoo breathes against his temple as Seungsik dips back down to press his lips to the elder’s neck, sucking only hard enough to leave faint blossoms of red petals that trail down his lover’s throat, over his tattoo, “Baby, please.”

It’s not often Seungwoo begs, so Seungsik relishes in the all the times he’s gotten to hear Seungwoo’s whispered pleas, each one feeding more into his desires than the last.

“Please, what?”

“Please,” Seungwoo repeats. His fingers thread into Seungsik’s hair as the younger’s hands find his belt buckle, “Fuck—Sik-ah, your mouth, baby. Want your mouth on me.”

“Anything for _hyung,”_ Seungsik murmurs against the fabric of Seungwoo’s jeans. He doesn’t _have_ to call Seungwoo ‘hyung,’ that had been one of the first things established when they started dating, but Seungsik likes to do it for the sole reason that it makes the muscles in Seungwoo’s thighs tense under his palms.

The buckle is undone, and Seungsik is just about to drag the metal of the zipper down with his teeth when the jarring rumble of Seungwoo’s phone next to his ear startles Seungsik enough to knock him back on his ass.

“Jesus—”

“Shit,” Seungwoo hisses, trying to fish the phone out from his pocket, “Sorry, baby. It’s…”

His words trail off, Seungsik raises an eyebrow from his position on the floor, “‘It’s…’ Who?” He prompts, “No one important, I imagine.”

Seungwoo’s eyebrows draw together, creasing his forehead as he stares at the still-vibrating phone in his hand. He looks apprehensive, like he’s weighing whether he should take the call or not.

Seungsik clicks his tongue. That won’t do.

“Come on, _hyung,_ we were just getting started. Ignore it.”

“Right,” Seungwoo acquiesces, but only after the phone stops vibrating does he place it face down on the table. He lets Seungsik pull him forward by his belt loops, fingers tantalizingly dipping under the elastic of his underwear as he’s led to the bed. Seungsik barely takes a second to remove his jeans and toss them across the room. 

“Now,” Seungsik _purrs,_ straddling the rapper’s bare thighs as he leans over him, “Where were we?”

Seungwoo’s eyes darken a shade, he opens his mouth to answer—

Only to be cut off by his phone. Again. 

_“Seungwoo,”_ Seungsik groans, dropping down onto the bed and letting his head bounce a few times before squinting at Seungwoo, “Okay, you’ve successfully killed the mood. Who is it? They’ve called twice now, and I don’t appreciate the interruption.”

Maybe, if his judgement wasn’t quite so clouded with the heavy scent of Seungwoo’s arousal, Seungsik would have noticed the worry etched into the frown-lines of his face. Or the way his fingers seemed to be twitching, ready to take the call without another thought. 

Seungsik seems to be the only thing stopping him. 

The vibrating ends, Seungsik doesn’t get to finish his sigh of relief when it starts back up. Nor does he even get the chance to start cursing the caller out, before Seungwoo’s thumb immediately clicks the green answer button. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Seungwoo—”

Seungsik frowns as Seungwoo waves him off in favor of the person on the other side of the call, his jaw clicking shut at the motion. 

Seungwoo has never dismissed him. Not once since the start of their relationship. No, the start of their friendship. Seungwoo may be the hyung, but he’s only ever treated Seungsik like an equal.

“Is everything okay?” Seungsik tries to ask again, but this time he’s met with more than just a wave of the elder’s hand. This time, Seungwoo turns his body away from him, leaving Seungsik to be met with his bare back.

The muscles, ones that he’s more than familiar with, are tense under Seungwoo’s tan skin. Seungsik strains his ears to listen but can only hear static on the other end.

He can’t help but feel the anger bubbling up inside him. Not only was his time with Seungwoo interrupted, but the one interrupting it wasn’t even saying anything. Nothing that could warrant Seungwoo ignoring him like this, at least, as far as Seungsik is concerned.

He’s about to pull Seungwoo’s shoulder to force the older male to face him, but a voice finally bleeds out from the other side of the line.

_“Hyung? I—I need—”_

It sounds like the person says _‘I need you,’_ —which Seungsik doesn’t like. He knows it’s none of their boys, they were all home with them, and Seungwoo would have told him—but he hadn’t been able to hear any more since Seungwoo moves away from him.

He nearly knocks one of the glasses from the nightstand when he throws the bedsheets off in his haste to stand up. Seungsik can feel the irritation seeping into his skin as Seungwoo ignores yet another call of his name, but the elder looks so frantic as he rushes to pull his shirt back on and scrambles for whatever pants he could grab from his hamper that Seungsik can’t help but feel like something is seriously wrong.

It doesn’t matter that he’s no longer the leader. Seungsik will always follow Seungwoo.

So he stands from the bed too, finds the first shirt he sees lying around Seungwoo’s room and throws it on while Seungwoo frantically searches for something.

“Where are you?” He asks, and Seungsik can’t help but notice the tone he’s using. He’s trying to sound sure, put together, but it’s not enough to hide the way his voice trembles with uncertainty. “Don’t—Don’t move, okay? I’m gonna be right over. Hyung’s coming. Please, please just—just don’t do anything.”

“Seungwoo-hyung, what’s happening?”

Seungwoo finally finds what he was looking for, pulling his car keys from the backpack discarded on the floor. He straightens up, back to Seungsik as he presses the pads of his fingers against his other ear to block the younger man’s voice.

It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m coming, I’m gonna be there soon. Don’t hang up, please. I’m on my way.”

Next thing Seungsik knows, Seungwoo’s broad frame disappears from the room, and he’s left scrambling to catch up with him.

The maknaes are strewn about the living room in various positions, but he can see Byungchan curled around a controller, and a glance into the kitchen reveals Sejun and Chan whispering over a pot of something that looks seconds from bubbling over, but he doesn’t get the chance to scold them before Seungwoo has his shoes on and is already closing the door behind him.

 _“Shit,”_ Seungsik curses to himself, hurrying to pull on whatever the first matching pair of shoes he finds. They must be Chan’s, judging by the slightly looser fit, but Seungsik doesn’t have the time nor the patience to find another pair. He doesn’t even have the chance to answer Hanse’s questioning call of ‘hyung?’ before he’s out of the apartment right after Seungwoo.

“I’m on my way now. Okay, baby?” Seungwoo’s words echo around the hallway, and Seungsik’s heart drops into his stomach as he hears his boyfriend call somebody that isn’t him or Subin ‘baby.’ “Just keep talking to me.”

The farther away he gets, the harder it is for Seungsik to hear his voice, so he jogs slightly to catch up with Seungwoo’s frantic strides and pushes away the annoying voice in the back of his head that’s whispering less-than-nice things about the situation, and instead tries to focus on the worry he feels for Seungwoo, and his hands that shake as they struggle to unlock the car and open the door.

Finally, he manages, but the few seconds it had taken gives Seungsik enough time to slip into the car himself. He follows Seungwoo’s frantic hands with his eyes as he buckles himself in right after the elder, who doesn’t even seem to register that Seungsik is in the car with him. 

In fact, Seungwoo only truly looks at him when Seungsik takes the keys from his hand, putting them into the ignition and starting the car after his own trembling fingers had been unable to do it. 

“Do you need me to drive?” Seungsik calmly asks, keeping any of the emotions he could feel bubbling under the surface of his skin away for the sake of his distressed boyfriend. “If you need me to, I can drive,” he repeats. 

Seungwoo gives his head the slightest shake, and this close—this close, Seungsik can hear the frantic breathing coming through the little speaker of the phone. 

“Seungwoo.”

The soft call of his name finally snaps Seungwoo back into the present, his hand going to the gearshift by muscle memory alone as he backs his car out of the space. 

His license may be fairly new, but Seungwoo was usually the safest driver of all of them. Although, his frantic eyes and shaking hands remind Seungsik to stay on the lookout, keep an eye on their surroundings in case he needs to be the one to drive back. 

“No, Y—Hey, listen to me. Listen to me—” Seungwoo’s voice causes him to look towards the older man, even though he knows he’s not the one being addressed, “I’m almost there. I’m gonna be there really soon, okay? Please, just stay on the line with me, baby.”

_‘Baby.’_

It’s that word again. The word that makes Seungsik’s shoulders tense up as he forces himself to keep his eyes on the road in front of them. He doesn’t think he likes hearing that word come out of Seungwoo’s mouth when not addressed to either him, or one of the kids. He doesn’t like it one bit.

He’s not sure how much longer Seungwoo drives, but it can’t be more than a few minutes before they’re pulling up to a set of buildings that Seungsik can’t find any semblance of recognition towards. The buildings are ordinary and seemingly-empty, if the curtainless windows that reveal dark rooms and plain walls are anything to go by, but he doesn’t bother asking questions that he knows by now won’t be answered as Seungwoo jumps out of the car. 

The car isn’t even off, Seungsik swears as he tugs the keys out of the ignition before scrambling to unbuckle his seatbelt and opening his own door. He guesses he should count himself lucky that Seungwoo even took the time to put the car in park before rushing out, but Seungsik doesn’t trust this back lot enough to leave the car running with the keys still inside.

Seungsik follows after Seungwoo, taking the steps that line the fire-escape three at a time, and nearly tripping more than once in an effort to keep up with Seungwoo’s panic-fueled pace and long legs. He almost calls out for him to slow down at one point, but Seungwoo’s wavering voice repeating reassurances into the phone is more than enough to keep Seungsik quiet.

He isn’t stupid. He knows what’s happening.

The building was too nondescript for him to make sense of when they first pulled up to it, but each floor they climb brings them closer and closer to the rooftop, closer and closer to the person Seungwoo is frantically trying to talk down.

Seungsik knows that whatever they find has the potential to break Seungwoo, and he needs to be prepared to deal with the inevitable fallout.

His concern for his boyfriend has easily overtaken any annoyance he felt earlier. The situation is serious, and he knows that now. He only wished he had known from the beginning—that Seungwoo had told him.

He barely registers when they reach the top, until the loud slam of Seungwoo forcing the door open shocks Seungsik into focusing. It’s February, nearly March now, and it’s more than apparent in the harsh bite of the air as they both stumble onto the roof’s pavement.

“Youn?!” Seungwoo shouts the second he pulls the phone away from his ear. It’s the first mention of a name since Seungwoo had answered the call. 

Seungsik wracks his brain for any ‘Youn’ he can possibly think of, but he comes up empty-handed. He doesn’t know any Youn, at least, not one that Seungwoo knows.

Until he remembers.

Seungyoun. 

The—always loud, always screaming, always noisily fighting with the younger members—boy from X1. The one Seungwoo’s eyes lit up for when Seungsik watched clips of them choosing their leader. Any clips from then, really.

Seungyoun, who was right in front of them.

He feels all of the air leave his lungs as Seungwoo almost trips over himself to scramble to Seungyoun’s side, giving Seungsik a clear view of the scene before him.

Clad in nothing but a faded green hoodie and dark basketball shorts, curled into himself and slumped against the corner of the wall and the grimy metal of one of the many ventilation units around them. His face was pale, eyes fluttering and barely open, his phone discarded in his lap.

“Th-That’s a lot of blood,” he barely hears Seungwoo stutter out, fingers hovering above the bottom of Seungyoun’s shorts.

Oh. 

His shorts, that weren’t noticeably darker from Seungsik’s distance before, now show just how much of the discoloration was due to the blood soaking through the fabric.

“Oh, shit,” Seungwoo breathes as he lifts the material away from his skin, “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Seungsik knew the boy’s skin would be just as pale as his face, had it not been painted a bright crimson from the blood covering Seungyoun’s thighs. 

He’s not prepared, he’s not. No matter how much he had tried to tell himself to expect the worst. It still wasn’t this. It wasn’t Seungwoo tearfully fretting over the nearly-unconscious boy before them. It wasn’t Seungwoo’s chest heaving with panic and Seungyoun’s barely rising. It was never Seungwoo crying over a boy that Seungsik’s only seen on a screen. 

“Hy’ng?”

Seungyoun’s voice was light, barely more than a breath but it’s enough to shock Seungwoo into moving, the cloth of his sweatpants the only protection his knees have from the harsh concrete, which is more than Seungsik can say for himself, his own shorts leaving his legs bare to the chill of the air. He wraps his arms around himself, wondering how long Seungyoun must have been out here, that he’s not even shivering.

“Yeah, Youn-ah,” Seungwoo mutters, reaching a hand up to brush the younger boy’s hair from his forehead, “Hyung is here. Y-You don’t have to worry anymore, baby.”

_Baby. Baby. Baby._

Seungsik doesn’t know what he wants. Part of him would like nothing more than to pull Seungwoo away and yell _‘Stop saying that—Stop ignoring me,’_ but the other part, the side his heart lies with, wants to live in a world where he doesn’t have to see Seungwoo crying for this boy in front of him, even for the sake of saving his boyfriend this pain.

“Seungwoo,” he softly calls, laying his hand on the older man’s shoulder, “We need to get out of here.”

They weren’t the most recognized group, and Seungsik was fine with that, but they’ve been picking up enough new fans recently, especially with their exposure from Produce and X1, that Seungsik doesn’t want to take his chances with being spotted with a blood-covered ex-member of the aforementioned group.

“I—I’m not just gonna leave him,” Seungwoo looks at him in shock. His voice shakes, and Seungsik’s chest goes tight.

“I’m not asking you to, but we can’t stay here,” Seungsik reaffirms, “And we need to get him someplace warm. Who knows how long he’s been out here.” Not to mention it was February, and neither him nor Seungwoo had thought to grab jackets before rushing from the dorm and to the car.

Seungwoo’s mouth falls open when he catches the meaning of Seungsik’s words, nodding dumbly before turning back to Seungyoun to lightly tap the younger boy on the cheek, “Youn-ah, we’re gonna take you back to our place, okay? We’ll get you cleaned up, you’re gonna be fine.”

That…wasn’t quite what Seungsik meant, but maybe it would be the easiest course of action for them to take? He doesn’t know anything about Seungyoun’s living situation, and if that has anything to with why he was here, bleeding on this rooftop, than maybe keeping him away from that is their best option.

He wonders if Seungwoo would even have an idea of where to go, had they decided to take him home, but ultimately decided he didn’t want to think any more on his boyfriend’s closeless with this boy that was obviously not okay. Seungsik doesn’t have time to think about anything other than how they’re going to get back home, or, god forbid, to a hospital if the situation ends up being much worse than Seungsik initially thought.

“Youn?”

Seungyoun lifts his head up, just enough to blink up at Seungsik with unfocused eyes. It makes his chest ache, seeing this boy looking so lost and _hurt,_ before his head drops back against the wall behind him. “That star’s’pretty,” Seungyoun can barely be heard over the wind, but Seungsik just manages to catch his words before they drift away, “Wonder if it'still ‘live.”

“What do you mean?” Seungwoo’s voice shakes, his hands freezing over the darkened fabric of the singer’s shorts. The blood doesn’t look like it’s stopping. 

Seungyoun hums, closing his eyes as Seungwoo lightly taps his cheek again. His lips are beginning to turn blue, Seungsik wonders if they should be already on their way to the hospital. “Could take… _years…_ for th’light to reach us…” He trails off. Seungsik expects him to begin talking again, but he never does. 

His silence makes Seungsik’s heart drop, and he reaches out with trembling fingers to shake Seungyoun’s ankle until his eyes finally blink open again.

“Wish I…could be like tha’star. Go’way without anyone knowing…”

Seungwoo’s breath hitches. Seungsik watches as he lets it out, slowly—unstable. Jagged in the same way Seungyoun’s were, but still louder than the unsteady rise and fall of the brunette’s chest in front of them. Seungsik’s own chest aches in sympathy as something lodges itself inside, holding his lungs in a freezing grip when Seungyoun begins to _cry_ in front of him.

He watches the boy that had once seemed like fire, burning and bright and full of so much _warmth_ that he could manage to ensnare Seungwoo in such a way that Seungsik never could, crack apart like the thin layer of ice that sits over water at the start of winter. Fragile and breaking down into fragments, sharp and cold. 

And then, Seungwoo whispers, with a voice that’s almost as broken as the boy in front of them, “Younie. Why would you want that?”

The question sits between all of them, a question that Seungsik almost doesn’t want to know the answer to, but the answer breaks over all of their heads in a second. Starting with the two silent, lone tears that slip down Seungyoun’s face, before quickly turning into a downfall of rain above them. Seungsik watches, unable to move, as Seungyoun breaks in front of them. His nails dig into the cuts on his thighs, blood pooling and mixing with the rain—Seungsik thinks he might throw up.

“We need to get out of here,” he repeats, more urgent this time, “Seungwoo, we need to leave. _Now.”_

His words finally seem to register with the older man, and he snaps back to them with a physical shake of his head before pulling Seungyoun into his arms and standing. It all happens in a rush, after that. Seungyoun’s phone falls from his lap and hits the cement, Seungsik watches the crack spiderweb over the top left corner where it lands hardest before picking it back up, pointedly ignoring the flash of silver and red that he catches, discarded near the vent closest to them. 

The next thing Seungsik knows, Seungwoo is halfway down the steps and he has to jog to catch up. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like he’s struggling with the lanky body in his arms, even down several flights of stairs, and Seungsik is reminded of the stories of mothers lifting cars when their children are in trouble, momentarily gifted with inhuman strength out of sheer desperation to save the ones they love. He wonders if this is a moment like those.

The rain picks up. Seungsik doesn’t know if he’s blinking away rain water or tears.

“Seungwoo, do you need me to drive back?” Seungsik tries to _calmly_ ask on the final few steps, after watching Seungwoo nearly jump them to get to the car faster, “I can drive and you can sit with him in the back, okay?”

He already has the keys, anyway, a fact Seungwoo seemingly didn’t know, if the look of shock on his face is anything to go by. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Do you—”

“I remember the way,” Seungsik forces out, opening the door for Seungwoo to lean forward and maneuver Seungyoun in, but the youngest doesn’t release his grasp on Seungwoo’s shirt, his fingers turning the light blue fabric red. 

He manages to get him in, but not without Seungyoun curling in on himself as he claws at his legs, chest heaving and heaving like he can’t _breathe,_ and Seungsik’s heart shatters. He moves to open the door of the driver’s seat, but is unable to block out the desperate, wet, _agonizing_ sobs that make Seungsik’s hands shake almost as bad as Seungwoo’s had been earlier.

Now, he watches as his own fingers struggle to place the key in the ignition, forcing himself to take a single, solid breath before trying again. He doesn’t look into the review mirror when backing up, choosing instead to look out the window to avoid seeing Seungyoun desperately clinging back against Seungwoo’s chest, but it does nothing for the pleading, broken cries that fill the car.

He shouldn’t be here, but he needs to be. He needs to be here for Seungwoo, who needs to be here for Seungyoun, no matter how wrong it feels to witness this. Whatever _this_ is. Seungsik only knows that it’s messy and frightening and he has no idea what he can do to help, other than keep his eyes on the road and focus on getting them home.

Which proves far more difficult than Seungsik ever would have imagined, and he can’t help the way his eyes continue to drift to the mirror to catch sight of the scene behind him. He can’t stop himself from watching this boy break in the love of his life’s arms. 

Seungsik shivers. He’s freezing, but that’s not surprising, after standing in the cold, in the rain, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and shorts. 

He needs to keep his eyes on the road, staying vigilante on the now-torrential rainfall and not the writhing and sobbing wreckage that was Seungyoun breaking into pieces in Seungwoo’s arms. Seungwoo, who looks at him with the most lost, the most fearful expression Seungsik’s ever seen on him.

It’s almost too much. Seungsik doesn’t know what to do with all of this pain. All of this misery. This sorrow. He doesn’t know.

So he drives, and tries to tune out the two men in the back to the best of his abilities.

It doesn’t work, but he never expected it to.

They get home. Seungsik turns the car off and looks back to see Seungyoun with his head between his knees, heaving out desperate sobs like he still can’t breathe, and Seungsik has half a mind to ask Seungwoo if he had gotten sick, but decides it doesn’t matter. Their car can be cleaned. They’re already going to have to find a way to remove the blood from the upholstery.

Silently, save for the crying, Seungsik attempts to help Seungwoo out of the car with Seungyoun in his arms, holding the youngest boy’s weight momentarily as Seungwoo finds his footing. Those few seconds are enough for Seungsik’s arms to shake under Seungyoun’s weight, and his chest swells slightly with respect for Seungwoo being able to carry another full-grown—not to mention _tall—_ adult down several flights of rickety stairs in the rain without anything more than a stumble.

“What about the others?” Seungwoo asks as they speed walk to the door, “I—I can’t even think of how to explain this…”

“We can worry about that after,” Seungsik mumbles. Really, he has no idea where to even begin with this. Why him and Seungsik were wet, shivering, and carrying an equally wet and cold—not to mention _bloody—_ ex-member of Seungwoo’s would-be group. “We’ll talk to them after cleaning up. We can’t have either of us getting sick right now.”

He ignores the small whimper that falls from Seungyoun’s lips as he’s readjusted in Seungwoo’s arms in order to get past the door frame. He ignores the worried look Seungwoo sends him as Seungsik gently pushes him forward, in the direction of the rapper’s single room before turning back to the rest of the group when he hears Seungwoo’s door push shut.

“I don’t know anything, so please, don’t ask. We’ll fill you in as much as we can later. I’m sorry.”

He bows before turning tail and heading to Seungwoo’s room as well, all the while cursing how stiff and impersonal he had sounded. He’ll talk to Chan the next free moment he gets, he promises himself, but right now his patience is shot and his nerves are frayed like broken wires. 

His forehead presses against the cool wood of the door, where Seungsik stays for several seconds, just breathing in an effort to calm himself down.

“Baby?”

His first instinct is to turn towards the sound of Seungwoo’s shattered voice, but, somehow, he doesn’t think the word is directed at him.

He’s proven wrong not even a second later, when Seungwoo’s soft—and scared, his mind supplies—voice calls his name, making Seungsik’s shoulders tense before he turns to face him. Seungwoo is the man he loves, and Seungsik has never thought about leaving him before, but now, in this moment, he wants nothing more than to run away.

“Seungsik, _please,”_ Seungwoo’s voice breaks on his whispered plea, “I don’t know what to do. I—I need you.”

The pieces of his broken heart fragment into even smaller shards.

He doesn’t know how he could ever think—could ever even entertain the _thought_ of abandoning Seungwoo to deal with a situation like this on his own. Seungsik may have no previous stakes in this happening, but he was a part of it now, and he was going to continue to be a part of it for as long as Seungwoo needed him.

And he would be lying to himself if he tried saying he wasn’t worried for Seungyoun. 

Wordlessly, he makes his way to Seungwoo’s bathroom, grabbing a handful of washcloths and a towel before dropping them onto the bed and turning right back to grab the bandages and antiseptic from one of the cabinets.

It’s easy to slip into work-mode, where he doesn’t have to think about Seungwoo’s silent sobs that shake his usually-strong frame, or how Seungyoun has gotten worryingly silent, his breathes coming out in shallow pants as Seungsik takes a seat in front of them.

It still makes his chest ache.

“I need to see his thighs, baby,” Seungsik glances up at Seungwoo through his lashes, trying not to look at Seungyoun, broken and fragile and curled into Seungwoo’s chest like his arms were the only thing capable of holding him together, “It’s…It’s going to be okay.” He tacks on as an afterthought. Seungsik needs to stay calm for Seungwoo, and they both need to stay calm for Seungyoun.

He hears more than sees when Seungwoo takes a deep breath, taking extra care in the way he shifts Seungyoun in his arms. 

_He’s young,_ Seungsik reminds himself, _but he’s only a year younger than me, so why does it seem so different?_

There isn’t much he knows about Seungyoun, but maybe it comes from the knowledge (some of the little he possesses about the boy) that Seungyoun had been one of the younger members of his group. Seungsik tries to recall anything else he can about the boy, but it’s all a blur of resentment and disdain for the way Seungwoo had looked at him. In the same ways he once looked at Seungsik.

“Here,” Seungsik swallows, leaning forward to slide Seungyoun’s worn converse from his feet, thankful for the younger boy wearing them the same way he was always clowning Byungchan for, with the heels folded under and worn in place like that. 

Without thinking, Seungsik let’s his fingers trail over Seungyoun’s bare legs. Long and thin and pale and bruised, but still oddly captivating to look at. He can see why this boy was able to ensnare Seungwoo. He’s beautiful in such a unique way. Dangerous, but fragile. 

His eyes trail higher, to where the blood coats his skin and Seungsik instantly feels sick again. It reminds him of times long past, before they even made it to debut and were nothing more than a group of hopeful— _disillusioned_ —trainees. He remembers the darkness in Hanse’s eyes, and the nail marks that were never not present on Sejun’s palms. He remembers the anxiety that plagued them all, especially Seungwoo, in the months before, as well as the months after their debut.

Seungsik remember’s all this, but he also remembers how they managed to get through it. Together. They’ve always had each other. 

Seungyoun doesn’t have that.

Seungsik can’t remember much about the boy’s story in joining Produce, but he knows he’s from a group that’s no longer active, and without X1, he doesn’t have a group to fall back on.

“I’m sorry,” Seungwoo whispers, catching Seungsik by surprise. He looks up, momentarily pausing after wetting the clothe in his hand with the antiseptic, waiting for Seungwoo to continue. “I’m sorry for—for getting you caught up in this. I’m sorry, Sikkie, but I couldn’t do this without you.”

He can’t help but scoff at that, “Really? It hasn’t felt like that, recently.”

Seungsik knows he shouldn’t let his own emotions take control in this scenario but it’s too late to take back his words, so he doesn’t try to. Maybe it’s better that it’s out in the open, but he still can’t help but feel regret when Seungwoo’s eyes widen.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Seungwoo,” Seungsik tries to keep his voice even, pursing his lips and keeping his eyes off of Seungwoo—meaning his gaze stays locked on Seungyoun’s legs—as he tries to calm himself. This should wait. There’s no place for his heartache here. Not now. Not when Seungyoun was actively gasping for breath and Seungwoo’s fingers were still trembling.

But he can’t stop himself.

“You’ve been different since coming back. Was he the boy you were always texting?”

He catches Seungwoo’s flinch, barely, out of his peripheral—but he sees Seungyoun’s directly. Feels his muscles tense under his hands. Like he wants to run.

“I thought so.”

“Seungsik, I—” Seungwoo starts, swallowing, “It wasn’t like—It wasn’t anything like that, I swear. I was—It—”

“Was my fault,” Seungyoun cuts in, his voice rough and sounding like it had been drug through gravel, “I’m sorry.”

Seungsik watches the boy curl in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

Seungyoun isn’t quite delicate—in any sense of the physical word, at least—likely as tall and broad as Seungsik himself, but he seems so fragile, so vulnerable, compacted in Seungwoo’s lap like he is. 

It’s something he sees a lot in Byungchan—the ability to be smaller than those around them, even when it’s someone like Hanse they’re with. In the same way that Hanse is good at making himself appear bigger, more threatening, when he feels insecure or unsafe.

The silence that sits between them is heavy. Oppressive.

“I was texting him to remind him to take his meds,” Seungwoo dejectedly mumbles after several long seconds of bated breaths, “And, to—to check up on him, just so he wasn’t alone.”

The ice cracks. Seungsik feels like he’s just been submerged in freezing water. He can’t breathe.

“And…I know it doesn’t excuse how I made you feel, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, but it wasn’t my story to share.”

The water isn’t enough to douse the flames that sit on his tongue, ready, waiting for the chance to surge forward and burn Seungwoo. To hurt him.

“That shouldn’t be your responsibility,” Seungsik finally manages to push out from his too-tight throat, “You’re not his leader anymore.”

Again, he regrets it as soon as he says it, but he can’t take the words back. He can’t take back the choked sob Seungyoun lets out, or the stupified gasp Seungwoo makes.

“No,” he says, lowly, like he’s talking to a petulant child and it only makes Seungsik angrier, “I’m not his leader anymore, but that doesn’t matter. I still care about him. Just like I care about Heo and Hanse and Subin. Just like I care about Byungchan and Sejun.”

A beat of silence. Seungsik almost can’t hear the words that follow it past the sound of his heart beating deafly in his ears.

“Just like I care about _you.”_

And, just like that, the anger ebbs from his body, leaving him in a resigned state of understanding. It’s nothing he hadn’t known, but hearing it coming from Seungwoo’s mouth, however indirect it had been, still felt like a slap to the face.

He knows Seungwoo still loves him, and that might be the worst part. Seugsik wants to be angry, wants to be upset and think that his love wasn’t good enough, but he knows that’s not true. He knows Seungwoo—

 _“M’sorry,”_ Seungyoun all but _wails,_ and Seungsik realizes the boy had been more coherent than he must have thought, listening to the envy-tainted words he had said to Seungwoo, the jealousy turning his heart dark for those brief minutes, “S-Shouldn’t’ave called—Sorry. I—I’m _sorry.”_

Instantly, Seungwoo’s attention is off him and back on Seungyoun, but Seungsik can’t be too upset because he does the same thing as he watches Seungyoun’s chest heave with several poorly-suppressed sobs.

“What if—What if it’s—it’s over for me?” Seungyoun’s voice shakes, breaks, trembles as shutters wrack his thin frame. “What if I can’t do—can’t do it anymore? I—I just got it all—it all back. Started being h-happy again, and now it’s—it’s _gone._ I don’t—I—”

Seungyoun can’t seem to stop the words that spill from his lips. Seungsik barely even notices how he pitches forward into Seungwoo’s lap to bury his face in the eldest’s neck, hands gripping his shirt more desperately than Seungsik could ever imagine feeling. Seungyoun must be close to running out of tears. He must be.

“What—What if—everyth-thing I’ve ever—ever done—”

Seungwoo tries to gently quiet the boy as his breathing speeds up, far faster than Seungsik is comfortable hearing without his own chest aching in empathy. 

Seungyoun doesn’t listen, doesn’t stop. Continues to wail the words out with less and less strength behind them, until they drop off to barely more than a croak. 

“Has—Has it all been—meaning—meaningless? Was it all for—for nothing?”

Seungsik’s heart breaks for a boy he was so sure would be the cause, but for an entirely different reason than anticipated. He watches as Seungyoun’s entire being seems to collapse in on himself, fingers digging into the still-sluggishly bleeding marks on his thighs, making Seungsik grip the cloth in his hand tighter as more red begins to pool under the rapper’s nails. 

“W-Wouldn’t it just be—be easier?”

“Would what be easier, Youn-ah?” Seungwoo asks. 

When Seungsik finally looks up, Seungwoo’s eyes catch his—the normally warm, fond gaze now replaced with panic, glossed over with a sheen of tears Seungsik’s knows must be mirrored in his own eyes. 

Seungyoun doesn’t answer—can’t answer, really—and Seungsik finds himself grateful. He doesn’t think he wants to hear what the younger would say, even though he’s almost positive he knows. 

No one says anything, actually, and silence falls upon the trio—silent, save for the wet, gasping sobs Seungyoun can’t seem to stop—Seungsik takes a breath to calm the shaking of his fingers before reaching out to grab one of Seungyoun’s hands in his own. He lifts it, gently wiping the blood from his skin with slow motions, trying to ease the other into the rhythmic and repetitive motion in an attempt to ground him. 

Seungyoun’s knuckles are bruised, something Seungsik had failed to notice up until that moment, but they’re swollen and scraped and purple is already beginning to sprout around the joints. He looks up to ask Seungwoo, but his boyfriend’s eyes are already focused on the injury. 

“Oh, Youn,” he whispers, closing his eyes and tipping his forehead against Seungyoun’s temple, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Seungsik’s sight blurs. It shouldn’t feel like his fault, but it does, and he’s certain Seungwoo feels the same. Seungwoo, his beautiful, bright boyfriend that gives and gives and gives, but never takes for himself. He would give his everything and more to Seungsik, and Seungsik wasn’t able to give back in turn. 

It makes him want to get angry. At Seungyoun, for unknowingly shifting their relationship. At Seungwoo, for never putting himself first. At himself, for causing both of those. 

He can’t fault Seungwoo for never putting himself first, when Seungsik forced his way into that position. Because he’s selfish. 

“Seungyoun-ah,” Seungwoo breathes his name out like a prayer, “You’re—” He pauses, swallowing the tears that waver his speech as he looks Seungsik in the eyes, “You’re one of the brightest people I have ever met. You’re…so—so _special,_ Youn. I have never met anyone like you. You care beyond any limitation, love past boundaries. You…It’s hard not to love you, Seungyoun, I just wish you could love yourself…even half as much as I love you.”

Seungsik expects to feel like his entire world has just shattered around him, but he doesn’t, and he doesn't understand _why_ he doesn’t. Seungwoo’s eyes had never once left Seungsik’s, his gaze filled with so much _love_ focused solely on him, even as he practically confesses his love for a boy that was barely more than a name to Seungsik just a few hours ago.

It should make him feel terrible, but it doesn’t. He should hate Seungyoun, but he can’t. He should be upset with Seungwoo, but he isn’t. Hell, he should be surprised, at the very least, but he’s not.

Seungwoo’s always had so much love to give. Has always been a bleeding heart, for as long as Seungsik has known him, for as long as Seungsik has _loved_ him. Seungsik doesn’t understand Seungwoo’s heart, but maybe he doesn’t need to.

So, he doesn’t know why his eyes fill with tears. He’s not upset. Not anymore.

Maybe it’s from seeing Seungwoo—strong, capable Seungwoo—break down in front of him, sobs beginning to shake his broad frame as he curls himself protectively around Seungyoun, his eyes still yet to leave Seungsik’s. 

He wonders if this is the first time Seungwoo’s admitted it to himself, too. That he loves Seungyoun. In the same way he loves Seungsik.

It should hurt, but it doesn’t.

Seungsik manages to mouth the words _‘it’s okay,’_ before Seungwoo squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a shuddery exhale. 

“I love you so much, Seungyoun-ah. I only want good things for you, even if I can’t be the one to give you them.”

Seungyoun cries harder, Seungsik resumes cleaning the blood away from his thighs. Seungwoo loves Seungyoun. Seungsik finds it hard to be angry about that.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Seungwoo doesn’t take his silence well, if the shaky, breathless call of Seungsik’s name is any indication. He looks back up, catching Seungwoo’s bloodshot eyes and worry-bitten lips. “Say something, Sikkie…”

“I don’t know what to say,” Seungsik answers honestly, “I’m not…angry with you, Seungwoo, I just…this is a lot. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, methodically cleaning and bandaging and cleaning and bandaging the cuts on Seungyoun’s thighs, but each minute that he thinks passes, Seungyoun’s cries grow a little quieter. His own chest feels a little less tight. Seungwoo stops shaking.

Unthinking, he moves Seungyoun’s leg a little too swiftly, making the boy jerk from his uneasy doze with a cry.

“Shit—Sorry,” Seungsik apologizes, unsure what exactly he had done to cause such a reaction. He didn’t think he hit the wounds on his thighs, but it was likely that even his leg moving was enough to aggravate them.

“No, I…I think that was me,” Seungwoo mutters. He moves his arm, the one laying over Seungyoun’s waist, just enough to lift up the bottom of his hoodie.

As if his heart could hurt anymore, Seungsik feels that hollowed-out ache return at the sight of even more marks on Seungyoun’s pale skin. Old, thin scars criss-crossing and overlapping one another on his hips. Some that look like they had been deep enough to need stitches, and still hold that garish, dark maroon that shows they were more recent, not like the silvery lines on Sejun’s wrists.

“God,” he hears Seungwoo sob out, but Seungsik can’t tear his eyes away from the cuts and scars and _pain_ that will likely forever be etched onto this skin. He asked Sejun once, years ago, what had pushed him so far that he thought harming himself was the only solution. Sejun’s answer didn’t make sense at the time, but now, Seungsik thinks he gets it.

_‘It’s…different for everyone, I guess. I used to hurt myself so others couldn’t. It was something that was mine and only mine—the pain—and no one could take that away from me.’_

He found out, much later, about Sejun’s family. He remembers how much he had cried for the younger boy, how heartbroken he had felt, and pledged to always be there for him after. 

So, how could he fault Seungwoo for wanting to do the same thing?

“We should get that hoodie off of him,” he gently instructs, “It’s probably soaked, we need to get him dry.”

“Right, right,” Seungwoo mindlessly mutters, trying to tug Seungyoun’s hoodie off without jostling the boy in his arms, “Should we…”

“I’m just gonna grab something from your closet,” Seungsik offers a small smile, the first one in what feels like forever, “He’s tall, huh? I guess I’ve never really noticed.”

The fondness on Seungwoo’s face was a welcomed sight, “Yeah…He’s almost as tall as me, but he’s good at making you forget that.”

Seungsik still doesn’t know how he feels, even as he stands up to retrieve whatever clothing his fingers are drawn to. He instinctually reaches for one of Seungwoo’s warmer, more worn hoodies and drapes it over his arm, grabbing another for himself and a new shirt for Seungwoo. His own shorts are fine, but the knees of Seungwoo’s sweatpants were soaked through, and Seungyoun’s likely weren’t even salvageable with the amount of blood on them.

“Do you want shorts or sweats?” He calls behind himself, grateful for the brief allusion of normalcy he’s able to slip into, even if it’s just for a second. Just until he turns back around and is faced with the reality of the situation again.

“Shorts are fine.”

He grabs a second pair of shorts after a moment of debate. Seungsik didn’t want to choose a pair with a tight waistband for Seungyoun, so he makes an effort to dig through Seungwoo’s multitude of athletic shorts and tracksuit bottoms for the loosest pair he can find, one that he can vividly remember sitting _low_ on Seungwoo’s hips.

For a second, for the _briefest_ second, Seungsik’s wonders what these shorts are going to look like on Seungyoun’s softer frame. 

He hates how little the thought catches him off-guard. It doesn’t take him by surprise, or make him question anything, it just _is._ Seungsik doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He loves Seungwoo, and he’s going to love Seungwoo for as long as he breathes. He’s going to love Seungwoo even after his last breath. When he really thinks about it, this probably isn’t going to change much. Seungwoo won’t love him any less, or, at least, Seungsik hopes not.

But even if that is what happens, he doesn’t know if he’d ever be able to leave Seungwoo. It sounds sad, it sounds _ridiculous,_ even, but Seungsik thinks he would just be content to love Seungwoo for nothing in return.

Maybe. He doesn’t know. 

“Here,” Seungsik gently sets down the stack of clothing on the bed before pulling his own shirt off and tugging on one of the hoodies. After pulling the stretched collar over his head and shaking his hair out, he sees that Seungwoo has made no effort to move, “What’s wrong?”

Seungwoo swallows, “Could…Could you help me?”

“Of course.”

He tries to push away the nerves (why is he nervous?) and moves to sit in the spot he had just vacated, looking at Seungyoun’s closed eyes and furrowed brows.

“Is he asleep?”

Seungwoo hums, “I don’t think so? He…Maybe?” He gives the boy a gentle shake, “Youn? You with us, baby?”

Seungsik wonders if taking him to the hospital would have been the better option, but quickly dismisses that. It would have been a nightmare to deal with if anyone saw, and he had to think about their careers because Seungwoo’s thoughts had only been on Seungyoun. 

Seungyoun stirs, just enough that Seungsik’s worry is quelled slightly, blearily blinking his eyes a few times before closing them again as he gives a small hum of acknowledgement.

“Are you okay with us changing you out of these clothes?” Seungsik asks, before realizing these are the first words he’s spoken directly to Seungyoun, and they’re asking if it’s alright to undress him. That’s not going to be something Seungsik forgets any time soon.

“S’fine,” Seungyoun mumbles, the tension showing even more prominently as the creases on his forehead deepen when his frown does. _He probably has a headache,_ Seungsik belatedly realizes, considering how much the poor boy cried, and how much blood he likely lost.

Seungsik nods, even though Seungyoun can’t see it, before reaching a tentative hand to lay it over the waistband of his ruined shorts. He knows he could leave this to Seungwoo, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see Seungwoo undressing this boy, not yet. Not right now. Maybe, maybe someday he wouldn’t mind. Maybe someday he’ll be okay with that, but now is too soon. 

He still needs Seungwoo’s help with shifting Seungyoun’s hips as he slips the shorts off and the new pair on, because Seungyoun is barely conscious at this point. Again, Seungsik wonders if taking him to a hospital would have been the better move (probably, rationally), but he can’t bring himself to wish he had. Not when he now has answers to several questions that have been plaguing him for weeks, even if that only gets him more questions to take their place. 

Not to mention Seungyoun looks kind of cute, curled up in Seungwoo’s arms like a child. 

Getting the hoodie on him is somehow a more precarious task, especially when Seungsik accidentally lays his hand on Seungyoun’s thigh instead of Seungwoo’s and makes the younger boy knock his head against Seungwoo’s chin.

“Ow, fuck,” Seungwoo startles back, wincing, “You’ve got a hard head, Youn.”

“‘Cuse you,” Seungyoun mumbles, “Been told m’head was good.”

It takes Seungsik a fair few seconds to understand what the younger man had meant by that, but once he does, the shock of laughter that rips itself from his throat catches him off guard. Seungyoun’s eyes—incredibly red, incredibly sore-looking—widen at the sound, and Seungsik can’t help but think he looks cute like this.

“Put the hoodie on, kid,” Seungsik gently admonishes, bunching the fabric up in his hands before pulling the collar over his head, ignoring the startled squawk it causes, “You’re shivering.”

Seungyoun grumbles something Seungsik imagines to be along the lines of, _‘I’m only a year younger,’_ but Seungyoun’s voice is low and scratchy and too muffled in Seungwoo’s chest to really be understandable. 

Seungsik’s tired—exhausted, really—and he can clearly see both Seungwoo and Seungyoun are as well. It’s late, a lot later than he thought it was, judging by the red numbers on the alarm clock at Seungwoo’s bedside, and Seungsik wants nothing more than to sleep for the next year straight.

 _Sleeping._ Right. Seungyoun was obviously going to end up sleeping here. With Seungwoo. In Seungwoo’s bed. Seungsik, for a second, thinks about getting up to go to his own room to leave Seungyoun to sleep here. He doesn’t expect Seungwoo to leave the boy, not after everything that’s happened, but a part of him that he can’t quite push away doesn’t want to leave Seungyoun alone with him.

It’s not even that he doesn’t trust Seungwoo, because he does, and—at the very least—he knows Seungwoo would never try anything with Seungyoun in the state he’s in, but Seungsik just…doesn’t want to miss out? He doesn’t really know what feelings that thought stems from, but now that it’s in his head, he can’t seem to shake it.

He doesn’t want to leave Seungyoun with Seungwoo alone, not because he doesn’t want them _together,_ but rather that he doesn’t want them together without _him._

“Scooch over,” Seungsik finally decides, “This bed is big enough for the three of us, and I…I don’t want to leave.”

He ends up on the other side of Seungyoun, with the boy curled against his side and Seungwoo’s long arms wrapped around them both. It’s hot and Seungyoun is a lot clingier than he would have expected but somehow, for whatever reason, Seungsik doesn’t think he minds it.

Not when Seungyoun’s cold feet press against his own. Not when Seungyoun’s fingers tangle in his hoodie. Not when he whispers out, _‘I just want to be important to someone,’_ a confession muffled by the stolen hoodie that separates Seungyoun’s lips from Seungsik’s neck. Not when Seungyoun falls asleep to Seungsik’s humming and Seungwoo’s fingers tracing light circles over his chest.

He doesn’t mind it.

  
  
  
  


“You love him.”

“Yeah,” Seungwoo breathes out, “I think I do.”

Seungsik nods, “And you love me?”

“Always.”

Seungsik may not always understand Seungwoo’s heart, but he can learn. He’s always willing to learn for Seungwoo. 

And Seungyoun? 

Seungsik’s going to learn a lot about him, too, in the coming months. He’s going to learn about the dark that plagues his mind, and he’s going to learn about the light he shines upon those around him. He’s going to teach Seungyoun something, alongside Seungwoo. He’s going to teach Seungyoun that his worth isn’t measured by what others believe he should be. 

He’s going to love Seungyoun, in a way so different than how he loves Seungwoo, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He doesn’t know that yet, but he’s going to learn.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! pls leave a comment and kudos if u liked it, I live off them
> 
> check out some of my other fics (be warned) and my twitter is [MVforVictory](https://twitter.com/MVforVictory) if you ever wanna hit me up!!


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